


Tantalize your soul

by Anonymous



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: An orgasm a day keeps Moryo's headache away, Asphyxiation, BDSM Fantasy, Bloodplay, Caranthir being awkward, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Violence, a journey through Moryo's incomprehensible mind, alas, also C/C is mentioned very briefly, mentioning of: - Freeform, the mentioning of some past events and relations with his brothers, this was meant to be a simple PWP but I couldn't keep out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day, Caranthir seeks some relief from his duties in Thargelion. (Note: Moryo's fantasies are to be found on the darker side of pleasure)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tantalize your soul

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I am terribly sorry but I cannot write Caranthir other than being awkward. Also: what should have be a ‘Caranthir-jerking-off-PWP’ has somewhat developed into a ‘Caranthir-jerking-off-character-study’ 1. I am sorry. 2. Brief mentioning of Celegorm/Curufin does occur (once). 3. Caranthir doesn’t approve. 4. This fic edges at the borders of underage, so if you are sensitive to it, perhaps it’s wise to stop here. 5. Also, mentioning of: power play, d/s fantasies, blood play, bdsm elements (not following ssc rules).

**Tantalize your soul**

*****

Caranthir smiled wearily. The past weeks had been exhausting, both mentally and physically. He was glad he was home – and alone at last. With an exaggerated sigh he let himself fall down on the heavy chair; soaking wet as he was – he couldn’t be bothered to strip down, not even to remove his mud-stained riding boots.

Who should care? Darkness had already fallen.

He had just returned from a tiresome negotiation, and if that had not been enough already, in the midst of his ride back to Thargelion heavy rain had greeted him, had changed the dust of the road into puddles of mud within minutes. The cold, wet days of late actually were to his liking – if he wasn’t out in the wilds.

 

Sometimes, Caranthir felt as if these accursed lands hated him.

Sometimes, Caranthir hated these lands.

Often, Caranthir hated everything. Himself included.

Today was one of these days when everything came together, and luckily nobody had crossed his paths during his return as his mood was far from light.

For their own good, the servants had not forgotten to light the fire in his chambers before his return, so that now merrily the flames danced in the distance. It was said that flames were supposed to have a soothing effect on a troubled soul; faintly Caranthir remembered a time when perhaps he, too, was soothed by the orange glow. Yet now, to him, the never-ending dance of the flames was merely mocking and threatening, cold and consuming. In the far distance he heard his brother’s cries from the marble hearth.

With disgust he turned away.

From a nearby table he poured himself a fair amount of whiskey. Unsurprisingly he preferred those without a strong hint of peat. Always.

He drank. Frequently. More often than not. Certainly Curufin would not approve. Well, in return, Caranthir did not entirely approve of Curufin fucking Celegorm, either, with the little difference that Curufin did not know about his drinking habits whilst he knew perfectly well what kind of _‘brotherly affection’_ passed between his brothers. Caranthir was perfect at hiding.

 

With closed eyes he took the first sip (which actually wasn’t a sip), savoring the oh-so-familiar taste on his tongue. Burning, almost acidic in its aftertaste. Not much later, he had to refill his glass, and slowly a warmth coming from his innards began to fill him. Soft and gentle, like black velvet against naked skin, like a lover’s touch that was such an alien concept to Caranthir, chasing away the coldness of the wet clothes. With every sip he took his troubled and twisted mind began to unfold, his aching muscles to relax. And people truly kept wondering why he drank?  At best, Caranthir deemed such a behavior ridiculous (not that he cared too much of what other people thought and said).

Faintly, a smile began to form on his lips and for moments he allowed the day pass by in his mind; the wind that danced through his unbraided hair; the grim faces of his advisors; the horrid expression of the young elf whose name Caranthir had already forgotten by now. Face fair with the innocence of the early years, unspoiled – and most likely untouched. He had never truly understood the fuss his brothers made about maidens, yet when it came to men the thought was strangely intriguing. How amazingly good it would be to breach the boy’s virgin hole.

A sigh of approval filled the air.

 _Mer- Meril? Morgil? Mergil?_ He tried to recall the name – and failed.

What did it matter in the end? Mergil was as good as any name in a land where names were nothing but smoke and mirrors, he reasoned.

Caranthir’s lips twitched upwards as he further sank into his chair, allowing his mind to wander to those dark places he kept shunned from anyone.

There were fantasies – and then there were fantasies. There always had been both kinds in his mind.

However, over many years, the dark parts of his mind slowly drowned everything else; the joy and laughter, those idle pleasantries deemed necessary by his kin. There was no space for light and gentleness in his mind when those dark pleasured called to him in the middle of the night.

In the old days, so long ago that Caranthir almost cannot remember how life had been then, his dreams had been bright, filled with the golden shades of Laurelin, even if they had already bordered on the edge of what was widely known as _‘bad taste’_.  

He had learned that much later.

Not that he would have cared though – nobody in his family seemed to care. Some more than others – and from time to time Caranthir wondered what – by Manwë’s balls – was wrong in this family.

A lot. One way, or another. That much was certain.

Yet he was different to his siblings. In many ways. Awkward. Without a lover, or even partner. Both things, besides his burning cheeks, had made him the perfect victim for Curufin’s mockery.

It was not so that nobody was ever interested in him; from time to time he felt another’s gaze wander across his back, even now in the new lands with his moods so much more fickle. Burning and challenging, yet deliberately Caranthir ignored them. His mind was a dangerous place and therefore he never allowed it, rejecting all advances he had ever received.

_What if those dark pleasures called upon him, then?_

_What if he lost his temper as he frequently did?_

_What if the past sprang alive?_

No. He could never let that happen.

Not here, not in these lands which were his own.

Not with his people.

Yet it was his own people he fantasized about.

Merchants, traders, simple craftsmen, lords, warriors and vassals. Maidens and whores – it didn’t truly matter as long as they were remotely appealing. Well, not entirely true. Caranthir had a slight preference for those far below himself in rank. Much younger. And male. There were many of those to find in Thargelion.

The boy from earlier, most likely a servant’s child, perfectly matched his interests.

Goosebumps rose on his damp skin from the mere thought of him. As bad as he was with names, every single detail of another’s face remained in his memory. Often forever. In his dreams he still saw the burnt flesh of his youngest brother, a thought he quickly pushed from his mind as the one who had piqued his interest wasn’t much older than Telvo had been. Perhaps younger. He had never seen him before. A pity, as he was strangely appealing.  

Caranthir pinched his cock with his free hand and shivered in response.

_Beautifully._

The glass was placed aside onto the floor, as Caranthir was too lazy to stretch out to reach the table from where he had taken it. Slowly, he pushed his hair over one shoulder, letting his fingertips graze along the side of his neck. In his mind’s eye, another did exactly this for him. For once he would allow it, knowing well who would be in command not so much later. Languidly, with a blissful sigh he stretched, listening to his breathing, to the rain beating against the window sills.

There was no rush as he had the countless hours of the night all to himself and sleep never came easily to him these days.

Counting and calculating his treasures in bed was exhausting. Making up new tax schemes was exhausting, too. Yes. Still, neither of it didn’t lure him into slumber. Sleep deprivation had become a constant in his life after Losgar.

At least taking himself in hand before he went to bed kept the maddening headache away.

 _‘Have you kept our little secret?’_ he asked in his mind. The boy, face framed with black curls, looked at him with wide eyes but remained quiet.

That was how it always started.

In his fantasies. In his dreams.

When those dark desires began to wash over him late at night when the lands lay in peace and quiet.

The door to his quarters remained unlocked. As always. By now, his servants had learnt not to interrupt him late at night, especially not unbidden. In his quarters he was safe from the outer world. Gladly – and sadly.

For him it was not so much about physical touches, of whispered confessions and loveing words (he hated those; more than once he had nearly puked when he had overheard Maedhros’ conversations with Fingon).

It was the game of minds that intrigued him most. The challenge and the obvious fear he could bring to another was what aroused him (something which wasn’t always of benefit as it proved difficult in battle. Not always, of course, but sometimes, when not only Morgoth’s vile creatures were involved. It was terrific to think of such amidst the horror and death).

He was powerful – held power over many people, yet it was an entirely different sort of power Caranthir truly craved. A power that was so dark and filthy that at the beginning he had been ashamed of himself.

Sometimes – when his temper flared – he tested some of those mental games with those who had come to him, bidding for advice or land of their own.

Right now, his hands ran idly along his thighs, hard and sore from riding.

Sometimes, he went down to the dungeons he kept for those he deemed dangerous to the safety of his lands and did the interrogations himself. It was a cruel sort of entertainment that Caranthir knew. Still, the delight it brought kept him occupied for many days – and nights.

Right now, without even knowing towards where exactly the journey of his mind would lead him, the thought of young Mergil accompanied the warmth the whiskey had left behind was enough to make him rock hard, his cock uncomfortable fighting against the tightness of his leather breeches. Excitement soared through his exhausted body and all too willingly Caranthir surrendered to his fantasies.

By ‘accident’, Mergil’s and his own path had crossed in a place where Caranthir usually wouldn’t venture. Yet there he was, struggling to hide the self-satisfied smirk from his face, the twinkling in his grey eyes.

 _‘You do remember though?’_ Caranthir asked the boy rhetorically, not truly expecting an answer to his odd question. His lips lingered a moment too long far too close on the shell of his ears as he leaned in.

 _‘What?_ ’ Mergil blurted out, eyes even wider than before, eyes filled with horror.

Inwardly, Caranthir smiled.

So it always began.

With deft fingers he undid the lacings of his leather breeches on his own, and with a heavy sigh his cock sprang free, hard and warm, adorned with pre-cum already as in his mind began to build tonight’s scenario. Of biting leather and restraints, of pleas of mercy and his hand tightly wrapped around the other’s throat whilst his cock was buried deep down his throat.

Or Mergil bent across his table, hands bound to his back.

Caranthir could not yet decide.

However, it was one of his more normal fantasies as they were devoid of blood and knives and whips. There were others for such dreams, Caranthir told himself, those warriors who deemed themselves higher than others, those in need for a lesson in obedience. Those who mimicked his muscled physique, chiseled like one of his mother’s statues; those who would fight him in their pride. Those he wished to see on their hands and knees with his cum adorning their fair faces. Caranthir’s head fell against the backrest upon his imaginary as he could almost feel the rush of triumph as at the end they would all submit. To him and his perverse desires.

Desires of red and white and black. Of those colors his dreams were made.

Caranthir couldn’t remember slicking his hand, but he was dripping wet between his thighs and all too easily his hand was sliding up and down his erection.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself, realizing that his hand fisted his cock erratically already.

_Mergil. Morgil. Mergil._

Face framed with black curls, eyes a light grey in which the light caught itself.

_Forty? Fifty? A hundred years, he was perhaps?_

Skin so perfect, so smooth, skin that nobody had ever touched in that way.

In bliss, Caranthir sighed, and saw his calloused and ink-stained fingers wander across Mergil’s shivering skin. The boy was afraid, and perhaps wisely he was if receiving commands wasn’t counted among his biggest strengths.

_A cruel sort of entertainment._

Caranthir’s hand, which now languidly stroked his erection, would get him on his knees, would be in his hair, against his throat when brief defiance overwhelmed his victim’s mind (oh how he relished in a bit of defiance, it made everything just more intriguing). 

There was nothing sweeter than the plea for mercy at the end.

_Cock. Mouth. Table. Knees. Mouth._

Reality began to mingle with his fantasy.

 _‘What?’_ Mergil called out and tore Caranthir out of the maelstrom of his thoughts. 

In his mind, he backhanded him, not brutal as he might have been with another, yet hard enough to make the boy cry out. Oh and so wonderfully the whining noise rang in Caranthir’s ears – a pity if those sounds would be unable to fall as his mouth would be gagged with his cock. Wasn’t it thrilling to hear the pain and agony in the young boys voice?

Caranthir nearly came.

 _Calm down!_ He admonished himself, and would have banged his fist onto the table if he hadn’t been so occupied with his hands. No, he wasn’t prone to obey his own commands.

A different scenario then, Caranthir decided. The second option. Not the worst choice as it had been a while since last he had fucked somebody on the polished wood of his desk (there had been rumors in Tirion that there was no better polish for wood than cum. Of course, it was Celegorm who had come up with that nonsense. Caranthir hadn’t believed him. Naturally. Still he kept wondering how it came that their father’s table shone as no other. Especially after Fingolfin had visited. He wasn’t sure if he truly wished to know.)

_By the Valar what was wrong in this family?_

Valar. Bad thought. It took him some efforts to keep Mergil’s face remaining. Eyes covered with the innocence of youth, still excitement lingered there, lips parted slightly. For what was not about to come. A pity.

Caranthir tightened the grip around his cock and slipped back into his fantasy. Time was not something he lacked at night, so he took the liberty to imagine everything from the beginning with the familiar thrill of excitement coursing through him.

 _‘My lord?’_ Mergil asked unsure, hands twitching in front of him as he stood before his lord’s desk. _‘You have summoned me?’_

Insecurity. Strangely appealing, Caranthir noted.

His mental voice sounded stern and formal. _‘That I have indeed,’_ he informed the boy matter-of-factly. In his mind, he wore the same clothes as he actually wore right now, black leather breeches together with a formal black tunic and riding boots, with the little difference that his garments weren’t soaking wet (although he had already forgotten about that). _‘Have you thought your stares and behavior went unnoticed? Blatant stares, I may add. How long has this been going on? Days? Weeks? Months? Undress.’_

Mergil’s voice quivered as he spoke. _‘What?’_

He blushed hard, and looked away.

_‘Or shall I inform your father?’_

With such wide eyes the boy regarded him, and a smirk began to form on Caranthir’s lips. A cruel game it was he was playing at, yet one he never failed to win. At last, silently, the boy shook his head, too scared to speak the answer out loud. Mergil’s skin was pale, yet darker than his own, Caranthir noted as obediently Mergil began to strip down. Hands insecure, eyes lowered down to the ground. Shy and awkward. For once, he let him. There was enough else to keep him occupied, things which were strangely appealing to Caranthir who gnawed at his lips in silence. Slender legs and a slim waist. Whenever it was possible, and much to Caranthir’s amusement, the boy tried to cover himself.

Caranthir felt as if he would be unable to fight his own desire. His cheeks were burning, partly from the alcohol but mostly from the exhilarating desire; again his hands stroked far too quickly over his erection; he would be done before his cock was buried in Mergil’s arse.

 _‘Step before me and turn around,’_ he ordered, yet not a single inch the young one moved, trousers pooling around his ankles, tunic neatly folded against his lower abdomen to cover his nudity.

 _‘Do not let me repeat my words thrice if you value your life; come here and turn around,’_ he ordered, a little harsher now. _‘And by the gods, stop hiding yourself.’_

_‘My lord–‘_

With a heavy sigh Mergil’s tunic fell onto the floor, and it was obvious how much strength it cost the boy to keep his arms hanging at his sides.

_Still developing. Lovely._

A game. An idle game. How Caranthir wished _‘make me’_ his victim would say.

Naturally, the words never came. Still, his cock twitched in excitement and his eye-lids fluttered.

Eyes stared at him, filled with insecurity and fear. All the more lovely.  

Reluctantly, the boy did as he was told, coming closer towards where he was seated.

Slowly.

Much too slowly for Caranthir’s liking.

Without bothering to keep the grace one expects of a noble lord, Caranthir rose to his feet, gripping Mergil tightly by the arms, drawing him close to his much larger form.

Why Caranthir kept leather restraints in the drawer of his desk would forever remain his secret. Not even Telvo had ever discovered them, securely hidden under his favorite books and countless quills.

 _‘Please no,’_ Mergil begged as Caranthir’s nails dug hard into his skin.

The words only faintly reached his ears as he was busy pinning him roughly down to the table, binding the struggling hands together at his back before he kicked the boy’s legs apart.

Momentarily, Caranthir halted, and relished in the divinity Mergil presented.

Black leather against pale skin, leather that could do so many other things to the boy’s skin; perhaps he would feel inclined? A burdening ache between his legs let Caranthir forget himself as he stepped closer and tried to push inside him with almost no preparation.

At last, he forced himself to stop.

A few thrusts with his spit-slick fingers seemed to be, had to be, sufficient.

 _‘No virgin,’_ Caranthir concluded, almost sadly.

_But then, wasn’t it such a disadvantage?_

_No. It wasn’t._

He couldn’t wait. Wouldn’t wait.

Caranthir took a step closer, one hand against the small of Mergil’s back, the other around his cock, positioning his erection for what was about to come.

A grunt of approval filled the air as he breached him, none too carefully.

Despite the heavy breathing from the young elf, despite his whines and pleas he pushed his cock inside until he was fully sheathed. Under him, Mergil tried to flinch away, to escape him.

_Responsive._

There wasn’t even the slightest chance of having success as Caranthir bent over him with all his strength, lips against the shell of Mergil’s ear.

_Life had never felt better._

A shameless moan fell from his lips as his entire body jerked against the armchair. Again, he tried to calm down his strokes against his cock, yet never before had he failed so hard (well, not exactly but he was still in denial about that one time so long ago).

It didn’t truly matter.

He thought of his fingers dipping into Mergil’s warm mouth, forcing his jaw wide open until his own incoherent words mingled with the boy’s whines.

Amidst his maps and correspondence he fucked him. Hard and unrelenting, spurred on by Mergil’s sharp cries and whimpers which so vividly rang in his ears.

Yes.

He begged.

For mercy, for Caranthir to stop.

They all did – in vain.

Still, in his mind, he also begged for more, for things he couldn’t quite fathom at his young age.

_Yes, yes._

Deep inside they all wanted it to last, craved their lord’s touch. Mergil surely wasn’t an exception. So fragile he was under Caranthir’s large form, his thighs not even half the size of his own, so young and innocent and welcoming. Cheeks rosy, and mouth agape, eyes filled with unshed tears.

Never had Caranthir been more thankful about the mirror installed opposite of his desk. 

A time, long ago and long forgotten, he would have felt something akin to pity.

Now, he didn’t. He merely fucked him all the harder, spurred on by the pitiful sounds that filled the air. Caranthir stroked his cock firmly, frantically almost, feeling callouses on his palms and fingers when in his mind it was the soft and fragile skin of Mergil’s arse enveloping him. Grunting, breathing, choking on the drool which had formed.

The dampness of rain now mingled with the sweat that prickled on his skin like dew in the early hours of the morning. Caranthir bit his lips raw in the throes of passion. In his fantasy his nails cut like broken glass into Mergil’s pale skin, soon adorned with imperfect red lines trickling down as the rain on his window.

In horror, the boy cried out.

Again. And again, until Caranthir brought his hands around the boy’s throat, squeezing it until only choked gurgles remained.

_Wonderfully._

Tremors wracked Caranthir’s body every couple of seconds and he slumped backwards with a sharp intake of breath, nearly tumbling out of the chair.

Too much. Too much to bear; to hear; to feel and whilst he coaxed himself to completion, in his fantasy he took a fistful of Mergil’s hair to pull his neck close to his lips before he bit down and marked him.

With a feral growl, Caranthir came hard. Warm seed spurted uncontrolled; over his hand; over his tunic; over his breeches, staining the black fabric. Onto the wooden floor, (why did Celegorm’s remark about wood polish now come to his mind? Let him be cursed!) with his vision as black as his fantasies were.

At first, Caranthir had not even noticed that Mergil’s whimpers had finally subsided, but when he did he was – well – startled. In suspicion, his eyes narrowed.

Something was amiss.

In one sweeping motion, Caranthir dragged the boy upwards by the hair and spun him around. Where he had expected watery eyes, had wished for tears of helpless misery to stain the boy’s handsome face, Mergil simply stared at him with indifference – before his lips curved into a smile.

Something was truly amiss. Caranthir wasn’t certain if he liked it – or not.

 _‘My lord,’_ Mergil began without having been granted leave to speak. The words echoed so real in Caranthir’s still lust-fogged mind that his eyes fell shut again. _‘What else, now that my virginity is lost, do you desire to take from me?’_

Caranthir gave him a long look, assessing the veracity of Mergil’s intent.

 _‘How old are you?’_ he asked, eyebrows knitted in surprise even if he knew that moment he was lost.

 _‘You must not know,’_ Mergil said with a small smile.

_A nuance of defiance._

More than willingly Caranthir let go of the matter as he wasn’t entirely certain if he indeed wished to know.

_Perfection._

Oh by all the accursed lords, he had to find that boy once darkness was chased away by light to make his dreams reality. Yet now, the darkness of the night still enveloped him and many dreams he had to pursue.

Dreams of black and red and white.

Of Mergil’s pale skin battered, bruised and bloody.

Supposed to be dreamt amid the black furs covering Caranthir’s bed.

 *

**Author's Note:**

> 6\. Certainly inspired by [@calicoprofessor](http://www.calicoprofessor.tumblr.com) who wrote a wonderful Moryo being awkward fic for me a while ago. 7. Title is taken from Marduk’s song ‘Obedience’. 8. Thank you @amyfortuna for beta reading this story for me. <3


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